A Perfectly Horrid Night
by Neptunae
Summary: During TM, the night after the barge has sunk, from Evie’s POV. She is busy denying her growing attraction to Rick as she desperately searches for peace and quiet, respect, and something in the way of a jacket... PLEASE read & review! Chapter 5 up!
1. Insufferable Man!

Author's Note: I started writing this as a break from the other story I'm working on, 'The Day Trip', and it sort of grew. It's basically about what happens from after when the barge sinks to the next morning when the Carnahans, Rick, and the warden arrive at the Bedoin camp and buy the camels, and it's from Evelyn's point of view.  
  
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'Hey Beni! Looks to me like you're on the wrong side of the river!' O'Connell shot back, and I saw a ridiculous amount satisfaction in his eyes that he was able to articulate such a brilliant -or so he thought- comeback.  
  
Insufferable man! It was entirely his fault I was drenched from head to foot with pond scum in my hair, with all my supplies and books lost forever in the depths of the Nile, and only a rather revealing nightgown covering me, or, more to the point, NOT covering me.  
  
This was unfortunately attracting the attention of the rude little warden. He was staring at me in a most disconcerting manner. The nerve! I waited until Jonathan and O'Connell were safely out of earshot up the bank before snapping, 'It's not polite to stare, you know.' He held up his hands as if pleading innocent to my charges. Under the circumstances, I thought it better not to begin any sort of verbal battle, so I set him go with a sound glare before trailing after the others, who had wandered a little down the river and were in the middle of some sort of argument of their own.  
  
'I don't mean to dampen your enthusiasm or anything, O'Connell, but don't you think we ought to wait until it's light enough to tell which direction we're walking in before we attempt to travel?' Jonathan whined, as O'Connell spread his gunnysack out on a rock and started reloading one of his weapons with ammunition. He rolled his eyes at Jonathan, obviously finding his cowardice a bit hard to take, a sentiment I could well understand. Jonathan's lack of enthusiasm for any activity likely to render him injured, discomforted or out of pocket had long been a sore point. God knows where he got such an attitude -or lack of attitude- from. Both our parents had been regular adventurers, ready for anything life threw their way. If they were here now- but I couldn't think like that. Not thinking like that was how I got by.  
  
'If we wait 'til light you better kiss that five hundred bucks goodbye.' Mr O'Connell told my brother, causing me to narrow my eyes in suspicion.  
  
'WHAT five hundred dollars, Mr O'Connell?' I asked, and both men jumped guiltily, obviously not having heard my approach. Mr O'Connell quickly turned away and fumbled with a silly gun, while Jonathan pretended to be intensely interested in some vile contraption or another he grabbed hastily from O'Connell's extensive collection. Obviously neither of them had any intention of divulging any information, which only made me all the more determined to weasel it out of the conniving wretches.  
  
'What five hundred dollars, Jonathan?' I asked sternly as the warden came loitering up. He positioned himself one a nearby rock from which he could stare at me all he liked without the others noticing. I found this severely irritating, not to mention downright ill mannered, and I considered asking him if he'd like the name of the dress-shop I purchased my nightgown from, as he obviously admired it very much. However, upon reflection, I decided it was worth foregoing this small triumph to maintain my concealment of the friction between the warden and myself.  
  
'Umm, just a harmless wager O'Connell made with the American fellows we met on the barge. Silly lot of codswallop, really. Something they agreed on while we thrashing them at pok- I mean, while we were having a few drin- I mean, it's nothing to do with me, Evie, I swear!' Jonathan babbled, not very convincingly. I glanced at Mr O'Connell, who from his expression and stance I could tell was going to stay out of it and refrain from incriminating Jonathan or indeed saying anything at all on the matter.  
  
I must confess I found this loyalty to my brother rather sweet.  
  
And for that reason, I told myself, I should despise Mr O'Connell all the more! How dare he reveal any admirable human qualities! How dare he make himself attractive to me! How dare he be the first decent poker partner my brother has ever had!  
  
Infuriating man!  
  
I could see no-one was going to explain things any further, so I decided to leave the matter until such time as I could hammer it out of Jonathan easily, like the next time he was drunk, singing sea shanties and mistaking himself for the Pirate King.  
  
By the time I had come out of this train of thought, the others had dispersed, and I was left standing by myself, a situation I did not enjoy in the least. Solitude in the middle of the desert when one had not the foggiest idea when one was could be rather alarming.  
Not that I was alarmed! I simply wanted to find the others, that was all. That was nothing to be ashamed about!  
  
I glanced around once more, and on closer inspection managed to make out a few figures in the darkness. I peered closer, and managed to identify them.  
  
The warden, I noticed, had pulled Mr O'Connell aside and was conferring about something or other, possibly the best way to seduce a half-dressed girl in the middle of the desert, a topic that Mr O'Connell, I felt sure, would be only too familiar with. He probably liked women of the blond, bosomy variety, who would sit on his lap and share his vulgar beer. That sort of woman wouldn't need a brain of her own- O'Connell's would suffice, should she need such facilities at all, which was doubtful. Unless, of course, she needed to count the number of men with which she had.had.  
  
Never mind.  
  
The prospect of joining their conversation was entirely unappealing, considering the unconventional type of talk I imagined them to be having. This raised a problem- what else was there to do?  
  
I looked around and spotted Jonathan wandering down to the river, probably to have a few drinks on the sly. Ha! If he thought he was going to get drunk at a time like this, when we were about to begin a long and perilous -alright, NOT perilous- journey, then he was sorely mistaken. I, Evelyn, would singly-handedly stop him from disgracing our family, himself, myself, and the name of the English in this foreign land!  
  
Now also seemed as good a time as any to secure a shirt or some other appropriate item of clothing from Jonathan, to foil any plans or delusions the warden might have about the long night ahead.  
  
I sidled up to my brother discreetly, not wanting the others to know of my intentions or their origins. Jonathan, I saw with some relief -and, admittedly, disappointment, as I couldn't interrogate him about the elusive five hundred dollars or make an English heroine/role-model/medal winner of myself- was not involved in any sketchy behaviour likely to result in a hangover tomorrow morning which I would inevitably have to clean up after. Instead, I registered with some surprise, he was skimming stones into the river. This was a skill that my father had taught us when we were small. Jonathan had never been very good at it, which reflected in his clumsy attempts now. Each stone, after its route was painstakingly planned and calculated by Jonathan, simply plopped into the murky water and sank promptly to the bottom. However, far from being discouraged, after each attempt my brother bent down and chose another stone.  
  
Although Jonathan seemed to find this occupation immensely entertaining, I was soon bored, and began searching for any other sources of amusement. I found a suitable distraction to be looking across the river, where I could see the other passengers from the barge and watch the various activities they were engaged in. They were leading horses and camels around, setting up encampments, and yelling instructions or curses to each other. My cheeks burned at some such curses, and I tried to block out the interaction, but to no avail -the scholar in me immediately translated any words I picked up. So I turned to Jonathan and cleared my throat.  
  
'Umm, Jonathan?'  
  
'Yes, old mum? Something up?' he asked, perhaps noticing my agitated tone.  
  
'It's a lovely night, isn't it?' I began weakly.  
  
'Yes, I suppose so, although the reason we're out here observing it in the first place is far from lovely,' he said rather wryly, grimacing, no doubt imagining sleeping on a hard surface tonight as opposed to the soft mattress -equipped with blankets and pillows- he would have had on the barge. What a baby!  
  
'Mmm. Jonathan?'  
  
'What is it?'  
  
'Nothing, really. Only.well, I.I'm cold.' I lied, hoping to secure his jacket withought revealing the real reason behind my need for it. Jonathan was far too cowardly to challenge the warden should he bother me, but he would verbally berate the man at least, and, if his past attempts were anything to judge by, he would do so very embarrassingly.  
  
'So am I, now that you mention it,' Jonathan said breezily, tossing another wretched stone into the water and watching it sink. My efforts thus frustrated, I reflected that he could be downright vexing when he wanted to be. He rarely saw something directly in front of him unless it was pointed out, and had several scars on his forehead to prove it. Subtlety was utterly wasted on him.  
  
'It's a pity your clothes are all at the bottom of the Nile. You could have put on a jacket, or something.' he continued, and I gave up my cause as lost. Unless I came right out and asked him, I would never get my hands on his silly old jacket.  
  
'Yes, a great pity.' I said sadly, giving up. 'Well, we'd better be getting back to the others. We have been gone for quite a while, and I suppose Mr O'Connell will be anxious to start out.'  
  
Jonathan amiably threw his last stone, and together we walked up the bank to where we had left the warden and Mr O'Connell. I was surprised to see that they were in the process of clearing a space between some rocks, for all appearances as if they were preparing some sort of sleeping place!  
  
'Why, Mr O'Connell!' I cried, too amazed that he'd assented to Jonathan's whingeing to remember I had decided to be cross with him for the remainder of the expedition, maybe even exceeding it- not that we would see him again, of course. But maybe I'd run into him in Cairo.  
  
'Aren't we leaving after all?' I continued, banishing the thought of never seeing the man in front of me again. Heaven knows why I found the thought so utterly distressing- actually, not DISTRESSING, but merely not entirely to my taste.  
  
O'Connell, who had been stopped near the ground clearing away rocks and sharp sticks, stood up and brushed the sand and dirt off his great big hands. I tried not to stare too much at him and his ever-increasing attractiveness, which, I felt sure was nearing its pinnacle, but found the simple action of diverting my gaze quite impossible. It had never been hard before! Why, I was getting quite as bad as the warden!  
  
He looked down at me with something I could not name in his eyes, something different. or maybe it had been there all along but I hadn't seen it, being too busy trying to stay angry at him.  
  
'No.'  
  
'Jolly good, old boy, jolly good.' Jonathan cried before I could reply, and I was forced to leave my mouth, which I had opened in preparation for continued interaction, hanging open like a great ghastly fish trap. I watched Jonathan slap Mr O'Connell on the back in his enthusiasm, drawing him away to discuss the eventual travel arrangements further, an action I quite envied him for, having never actually touched O'Connell' s back myself.his mouth and shirt yes, but nothing with muscles.  
  
I was rudely awakened from my enchanting daydream about touching Mr O'Connell's muscular, masculine back by that illustrious -or so he thought- personage himself. I had not seen him approach, but approach he had, and now I looked up to see him looming in front of me. I glanced past him and saw the others stretched out on the ground, busy sharing a bottle of liquor the warden had produced, triumphantly, from his grotty little bag, the contents of which I had guessed at only a few hours ago, but had soon had to cease such thoughts for fear they would give me nightmares.  
  
'Are you gonna be all right on the ground?' Mr O'Connell asked rather gruffly, causing all my initial antipathy towards him to return with a vengeance. Gone was his mounting attractiveness. Instead, I saw before me the dirty, hairy, flee-bitten personage I first encountered at Cairo Prison. Unfortunately, no sooner had I summoned up this image than I was remembering The Kiss.the wonderful, amazing, confusing kiss which had rendered me speechless and was threatening to do so again.  
  
Damn you, Mr O'Con- oh! The nerve of the man! His vulgar speech habits were rubbing off on ME! HOW DARE HE?  
  
'Is there some alternative you have not yet revealed, but will, after determining that I won't be all right? Is a feather bed going to fall from the sky? Have you buried a dozen pillows under the tree over there? Or are you suggesting I sleep IN the tree? Do you suppose that would be more agreeable than the ground to a weak, helpless, vulnerable woman such as myself?' I said as scathingly as I could, felling my cheeks grow red with the same red-hot anger that was gushing all over my body. How dare he?  
  
'I didn't mean-'  
  
'Are you implying, MR O'Connell, that I am lacking some capability which men are fortunate enough to have, which allows them to sleep comfortably on a hard surface?' I continued, noting with satisfaction that he no longer seemed surprised, as he had after my first outburst, but was beginning to look positively angry.  
  
'Look here, lady-'  
  
'You are perfectly aware of what my name is, Mr O'Connell. I'll thank you to use it.' I said coldly, watching his eyes flash. But although he opened his mouth, I never found out what he felt necessary to point out to me, as Jonathan had staggered to his feel and stepped between us.  
  
'Evie, he was only trying to help! For God's sake, listen to him before you tear him to pieces!'  
  
'I believe I heard enough, Jonathan. Kindly stay out of this.'  
  
Rick spoke then, which I think was rather presumptuous of him given the circumstances. Hadn't I made it clear enough that I scorned, resented and disagreed with everything he said?  
  
'I'm sorry.'  
  
What?  
  
'What?'  
  
'I'm sorry! I judged you wrong. I made a mistake. It happens! Can we just forget about it?' he asked, but I wasn't ready to speak. I was still processing the apology. I hadn't known he was capable of apologies, let alone ones that sounded sincere. Maybe it even WAS sincere. I found myself, against all odds, believing that it was.  
  
'I.I'm sorry too.' I said quickly, to get it over with. I saw Jonathan gape, and I widened my eyes in warning for him to stay quiet, but the alcohol was beginning to take its toll, and he took not notice.  
  
'I say, you ought to feel privileged, O'Connell. I haven't heard Evie say she was sorry for anything since when we were children and our parents forced her to apologise to that little fellow down the road -now what was him name again? Charles? -who she'd kicked in the, erm, leg, for his suggestion that she go home and play with her dolls instead of joining our game of cops and robbers! She's usually too stubborn to admit she's wrong, right old mum?'  
  
I chose to ignore my imbecile of a brother, who is obviously incapable of realising that there are some things one does not reveal to strangers, particularly things which will cause the said strangers to get the wrong idea. With considerable consternation I realised Mr O'Connell probably now thought that I.that I.well.  
  
'If I didn't know my rather reclusive sister any better, I'd say she fancied you, O'Connell.' Jonathan continued blithely, totally oblivious to the tension he was creating. Mr O'Connell was as red as the blood that was causing it to appear so tinged, and I'm sure I was not all that pale myself. I could easily have done some damage to my careless brother just then, but as he was sauntering off once again towards where the warden was sprawled, I decided to add it to his ever-growing tab.  
  
Mr O'Connell and I were left standing around, blushing like fools, and trying not to look at each other. I tried to speak but there were no words!  
  
This had never happened before. I ALWAYS had words before!  
  
I glanced at Mr O'Connell, who I saw was similarly impaired, and suddenly the humour of the situation became incredibly apparent. Perhaps it was the effect of watching the others consuming vast amounts of liquor, or inhaling some sort of gas the liquor released, which in either case had the same effect on me as drinking excessive amounts of alcohol myself. I can't think of any other plausible excuse- I mean, REASON, for what I did next:  
  
I began to laugh.  
  
Great, choking sobs of amusement broke from my throat and my mouth, and I covered my mouth in alarm. Why couldn't I stop laughing? I tried to force myself, but to no avail. As I was obviously not to blame for my chortles, it must have been O'Connell's fault. Everything else was his fault, why not this too?  
  
Irritating man!  
  
All this ran though my brain in a matter of moments, and then I did the only thing I COULD do under the circumstances, to preserve my facade of being a Responsible Scholar, to prevent the inauspicious Mr O'Connell from doing any more damage, and to ensure he never knew I was prone to sudden fits of giggling hysteria:  
  
I turned tail and ran. 


	2. Hulk or Hunk?

Author's Note: This is the second chapter, and there will probably be one more, eventually, about the next morning. I'm still working on my other story, but I'm kind of stuck so it may be a few days before I post the next chapter of that.  
  
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Again, I argued that the cause of my irrational behaviour was mysteriously and unexplainably linked to the warden's liquor. If not under the influence of alcohol, why on earth would I have acted in such a thoroughly irresponsible manner? Why would I have darted into the surroundings of the Nile River, alone, with no knowledge of the surrounding countryside, wearing nothing but a revealing nightgown, which was looking a little worse for wear by this time, being covered in tears placed in most inconvenient places teamed with stains of every colour imaginable?  
  
As I ran as fast I could away from the scene of my latest disaster, with the sole aim of securing, at last, some peace and privacy, I heard Mr O'Connell yell out, 'Evie!'  
  
Well! Of all the rude, inconsiderate, indecorum things to do, shortening my name like that!  
  
Then again, it's exactly what I'd expect from a rude, inconsiderate, indecorum person like him.  
  
'Better let her go, old chum.' I dimly heard Jonathan slur. 'She can be an obstinate old hag at times.'  
  
I resisted the urge to turn around and run back, just to slap my obnoxious brother on the face. I had a feeling that if I did so I would not be permitted to run off once more. (What a controlling waste of space Mr O'Connell was! Just where did it state in our admittedly verbal contract that HE was to be in charge, making all the decisions and ordering us all about? If I recalled rightly, I was paying him.)  
Besides, Jonathan wasn't going anywhere.  
  
He would keep.  
  
I stopped at last a few minutes later, having found a nice, uncomfortable rock by the river on which to sit. I arranged myself carefully, in case anyone should think to follow me. It would not do to resemble the old hag Jonathan had called me if anyone should. Not that anyone would.  
  
I tried to keep my mind blank, as I was afraid of what I might think of if I didn't. But it was as hopeless as looking away from O'Connell's piercing gaze had been. I had been unable to move at all, so strong had the connection been.  
  
It really was unexplainable, how I couldn't stop thinking about this man! I didn't even like him in the least! Why, he was rude, presumptuous, vulgar, dirty, violent.muscly, loyal, caring, sweet.  
  
Sweet? What was I thinking? Mr O'Connell was far from sweet! Just because he had kissed me -and in Cairo Prison, too- did not make him sweet. It made him course and assuming!  
  
It really was unexplainable.  
  
I tried thinking of other things, like Jonathan or the rude little warden or the Book of Amun Re, but all I could think of was The Kiss.  
  
I was busy chastising myself for this reason when I heard a voice calling repeatedly, getting louder and louder. Someone was coming! It probably wasn't Jonathan or Mr O'Connell, or even the warden, because whomever it was emerging from the opposite direction from whence I'd come, and they were speaking Arabic besides. Swearing in it, actually. Unless Jonathan had been taking lessons without my knowledge, it couldn't be him. And that was highly unlikely, given that every time I suggested it he refused, for reasons unbeknownst to me.  
  
Probably because he'd have to leave the bar for my than ten minutes at a time in order to secure a teacher and attend classes.  
  
I scrambled off the rock and ducked behind it under a little rock overhang, for I knew that if I didn't conceal myself then the newcomer would see me in my bedraggled state. As I did so, I trod on my nightgown, and I -as well as everyone else in Egypt, knowing my lack of luck- heard a loud tearing sound. I examined the damage as I crouched behind the rock, and grimaced. It was not good news at all. The nightgown- if the thoroughly dilapidated garment could still be given a name other then 'rags'- was now knee length, revealing considerably more skin than I wanted anyone to see, particularly the rude little warden. The torn part was nowhere to be seen. If only I had gotten that jacket from Jonathan! Although I suppose pants would have been more useful now.  
  
I heard someone burst into the clearing, still swearing colourfully in Arabic. Wait a minute, that voice sounded quite familiar.  
  
'Shit!' I heard someone say, and I realised it was O'Connell. To say I was absurdly pleased with this discovery would be quite an understatement. Images of burly Egyptian men brandishing swords and/or Jonathan's head on a pike vanished from my mind and I remembered O'Connell's face as he gazed down at me and I couldn't look away. A few moments later it became apparent that the hypnotic eyelock STILL held power over me, as in my joy of this turn of events I abruptly stood, forgetting all about the rock overhang.  
  
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'Evelyn? Evelyn, wake up!'  
  
I stirred and tried to sit up but found I couldn't move from my prostate position flat on my back. How odd! And how had I got here? I opened my eyes and blinked blearily up at the multitude of fuzzy heads bent over me.  
  
'Don't try to sit up yet,' the heads advised gently. 'God, Evelyn, you knocked yourself out!' they continued, shaking from side to side in unison.  
  
'I did?' I asked, confused. Why had I done that?  
  
The heads laughed. 'Yeah.'  
  
'What happened?' I asked, rubbing my throbbing head in chagrin. Why did things like this always happen to me? Why didn't anyone else get sexually harassed my prison wardens or tear their nightgowns to shreds of knock themselves out?  
  
Oh, well. At least now I could sympathise with Jonathan the next time he had a hangover.  
  
The heads stopped laughing and looked sternly at me.  
  
'You ran off into the desert completely without warning withought telling anyone where you were going! Did you even know yourself?'  
  
I opened my mouth to reply that it was certainly none of their business, not that I could remember clearly anyway, but the heads plunged on without waiting for a response. Really, I thought crossly, they could have a little more respect for a girl flat on her back and with, for all anyone knew, extensive brain damage!  
  
Not to mention repetitive searing pains in the head.  
  
'When you didn't come back, I went out looking for you. Finally found part of your nightdress torn to shreds on the ground, with you no where in sight. Then I heard this thump behind a rock and there you were, completely out of it. You'd obviously tried to stand up under the overhang.'  
  
Sometime during this speech my impaired vision cleared and I saw with surprise that there was only ONE head hanging dangerously close to mine, and that it was O'Connell's. What's more, he had a tiny smile on his face, as if he found the situation amusing! However, what I found more intriguing was the concern written all over his face, almost concealing the tiny smile. It was almost as if he. well. cared.  
  
'Why did you look for me?' I asked breathlessly, thinking about the last time his head had been this close to mine.  
  
'Evie!' Jonathan shouted, and came crashing clumsily out of the undergrowth, followed closely by his newfound drinking friend the warden. My brother's timing had never been notably remarkable, but for this episode, which was particularly inopportune, I swore I would extract revenge. Painful revenge.  
  
And painful for him, not for me.  
  
'Just what do you think you are doing, O'Connell?' Jonathan demanded, as if he imagined there was something he could do about it. He could barely walk straight and I could smell the alcohol on his breath from ten metres away. Even if he had been sober, he would have been unable to do the hunk- whoops, sorry, I mean hulk- who was Mr O'Connell any damage.  
  
Rick, I saw with disappointment, was moving away from me and getting up off his knees. Soon all I could see of him from where I lay were two of the dirtiest boots I have ever seen, which could have done with a good scrub, should O'Connell have any sort of cleaning implements in his possession at all, which was doubtful.  
  
Very doubtful.  
  
'Evelyn had an accident.' I heard him say. The warden snickered.  
  
Rick turned on him in an instant. I could imagine him pointing an accusing finger in the warden's face, although sadly I was not able to bear witness to the happy event of the warden getting a brief comeuppance, as I was otherwise engaged in lying flat on my back.  
  
'Look, pal,' Rick sneered at him. 'you can either lend a hand getting her back to base or just bugger off and pass out somewhere yourself.'  
  
I gave Mr O'Connell silent congratulations on his admirable handling of the warden, who murmured apologies. Feigned, no doubt, but still. He had been put in his place speedily and competently.  
  
In the meantime, Jonathan stumbled over to me and offered me his hand, which shook as he swayed on his feet.  
  
'Here, old mum,' he said cheerily. 'I'll give you a hand.'  
  
I preferred not to take Jonathan up on his offer, as I was doubtful I would stay on my feet for long if I did.  
  
'Mr O'Connell,' I began, 'I am doubtful of the abilities of my brother or the warden in helping my back to the camp in their current state of intoxication. I would be grateful if you would help me to my feet, and then I will be able to manage on my own.'  
  
O'Connell looked as doubtful of this as I had been of Jonathan's offer.  
  
'You'll fall.' he said gruffly, and strode to my side once more. What happened next is quite possibly the most embarrassing occurrence I have ever had the misfortune to live through, of which there have been a multitude since the day I learned to walk. Probably even sooner.  
  
That imprudent rogue Mr O'Connell actually stopped down and threw me carefully over his shoulder as if I was his gunnysack! The nerve of the man!  
  
'What do you think you are doing?' I asked, too astonished to be furious, as soon as I could speak.  
  
'You can't walk- you can barely move.' was the only explanation I was given, however, and I didn't bother inquiring further, being quite sure I wouldn't be satisfied with any elaboration he might attempt to make.  
  
'I demand that you put me down at once!' I said, as regally as I could.  
  
To my anger this seemed to amuse the man. Of all the despicable, crude, disrespectful people I had had the misfortune of being aquatinted with, this man topped the list!  
  
'And what exactly are you gonna do if I don't? Spit at me?' he asked, laughing in my face. Well, as my face was over his shoulder, he was technically laughing towards my legs.which were rather unconventionally bare.  
  
'I'm sure I'll be able to think of something!' I shot back.  
  
'Well, you better start thinking, 'cos I'm not gonna put you down.' he replied, and began carrying me along the riverside, the others trailing behind, arguing about the brand of champagne which most impressed women.  
  
'I think they'd be more impressed -not to mention astounded- if you managed to stay sober on a date for once, Jonathan.' I couldn't resist pointing out.  
  
When I got no response to my kind contribution to their vulgar conversation, I turned my attention to Mr O'Connell instead, who I remembered I was vexed at. So I beat my fists on his back as hard as I was able, but to no avail. Soon I gave up and lay limp in his grasp.  
  
Just as we were nearing the clearing that we'd selected to spend the night in, I realised with frustration that I'd fulfilled my dream of touching O'Connell's back, but hadn't bothered to feel any muscles!  
  
Infuriating man! It was all his fault!  
  
We arrived back at the camp, and Mr O'Connell barked at Jonathan and the warden to donate any clothing they didn't strictly need to me, to make me more comfortable. It was on the tip of my tounge to refuse his coarse offer as a matter of principles, which strictly dictated that I should not allow myself to be treated differently solely because of my gender. However, upon reflection I reminded myself that helping a person who has been injured is an entirely different thing. There was really no reason why I should refuse his offer.  
  
Well, no reason I could think of.  
  
Having extracted Jonathans jacket from him- my strenuous efforts achieved nothing, but he asked for it and Jonathan meekly handed it over!- Mr O'Connell bid me put it on, which I duly did. Then he sat me down and gave me the rest of the garments to wrap around myself.  
  
'Thank you,' I said confusedly, wondering were this treatment was coming from. He had never showed any indication of being caring or considerate before! In fact, he had seemed to go out of him way to make me uncomfortable.  
  
'Just don't lie down, or you'll probably get concussion.' O'Connell told me, even though I already knew how to take care of myself and I certainly knew what caused concussion. Seven years without parents had at least profited me that much. However, O'Connell hadn't known, so I supposed I couldn't get angry at him, amusing as such an activity invariably was.  
  
'I'll be fine.' I assured him, giving him the tiniest of smiles, which I soon saw reflected on his own face.  
  
'I know you will,' he said. 'you always are.'  
  
I didn't have to see my face to know that I was blushing furiously by this time, the product of his proximity and compliments. By this time, I had all but given up on ever determining why Mr O'Connell so greatly affected me in such a number of different ways. I was dazedly about to make some sort of trivial comment about the beautiful weather (having temporarily forgotten it was midnight and pitch black) when O'Connell stood up.  
  
'Better make the fire,' he said gruffly, jerking his head in the direction of the designated space. 'Doesn't look like they're going to.'  
  
Mr O'Connell had set Jonathan and the warden the task of creating a fire we could spend the night sleeping around, or, in their cases, drinking around. They had managed to collect some firewood -which was spread confusingly all over the clearing in a number of small piles- before dropping to the ground across the cleared fire spot from me and taking a 'break' from which they never got up.  
  
I noticed that Mr O'Connell was just as competent at making good fires as he was at scolding prison wardens or carrying injured women. What a surprise! The man might yet by moulded into a respectable and useful member of society. If only I could do something about his swearing.  
  
'Damn it!' O'Connell roared, as the fire petered out quite without warning.  
  
I made an irritated noise as he lit it once more and fed the flames some kindling.  
  
'Honestly, Mr O'Connell, it that vulgar language really necessary?' I asked impatiently.  
  
'Is it really necessary for you to take offence at everything a guy says around here?' he retorted, shuffling back from the fire and taking a seat next to me. He fixed me with that piecing gaze which seems to have the same effect as being hypnotised.  
  
'That's hardly fair.' I said hotly.  
  
'It's not?' he asked.  
  
'No, it's not! Besides, if you'd refrain from uttering incessant insults then I wouldn't have to take offence at anything at all!' I cried. Oh, the injustice of being wrongly accused!  
  
'I say, steady on, Evie, steady on,' Jonathan cried from where he was helping the warden devour yet another bottle of liquor from his seemingly endless supply.  
  
'Maybe we should change the subject,' Rick suggested mildly, raising his eyebrows at my ire. One day, I'd show him!  
  
Until then, I decided, I would make a conscious effort to be pleasant towards him, as a way of showing my gratitude for his help when I injured myself.  
  
Not that I needed his help.  
  
'What would you like to talk about?' I asked sulkily. (I would try to be pleasant, but that didn't wean I had to enjoy it.)  
  
'You.'  
  
'Me?'  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
'But you already know everything that it's proper for a stranger to know.' I pointed out. 'If you want to hear anything else, you shall have to wait until we are more intimately aquatinted, or else until I am intoxicated, which is the only other situation in which I would be willing to divulge more information about my life.'  
  
'Right.' Mr O'Connell said dryly. There was a silence.  
  
'Well, then, I'll just have to tell you about me.' he continued.  
  
'You?'  
  
'Yeah. Me.'  
  
'All right,' I agreed. 'Just refrain from describing any gory details, time in jail, and activities which caused you to end up there.'  
  
For the next two hours, I found myself listening to the extraordinary details of Mr O'Connell's life, which was -surprisingly- very entertaining to say the least. I had guessed his life would be full of adventure, violence, and vulgar language, but I never would have thought that I would find it interesting!  
  
Jonathan and the warden missed out on the entirety of the narrative, being to busy working their awkward way through 'Pirates of Penzance'. They wore matching crowns made out of the labels off their bottles of alcohol and sang all the lyrics they could remember -which was a pitiful few, really, considering the number of times Jonathan and I had seen that musical- at the top of their voices.  
  
But somehow, despite their resounding, boisterous cries of 'for I am a Pirate King and 'hurrah for the Pirate King', I heard every word Rick said with perfect clarity. I could not have imagined a more diverting way to pass the time.  
  
And, despite my best efforts, I couldn't blame my enthusiasm on the liquor being consumed across the fire or on the man sitting next to me relating his life story. Deep down, I didn't even want to. 


	3. Violence Withdrawal Symptoms

Chapter Three  
  
Disclaimer: I have no idea if I need this or not, and I haven't put one in any chapters before. If anyone knows if these are necessary, please email me or something. Anyway, I don't own these characters or anything to do with the Mummy.  
  
Author's Note: Here it is at last! I wish I had a plausible excuse for the huge gap between updates, but, sadly, I don't. School's finished for the year (Just three years to go!!! Then uni, then a job. In forty years or so I should finally be able to relax) so I have no homework. And I don't have a job, or a social life, or any other commitments handy.  
  
Of course, if there is more response to this chapter than there was to the last one I might be able to arrange a shorter time span between now and chapter four.  
  
If there isn't I'll take forever. Please don't put me through that! I'll also have to think of some new threats. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
'Shut your traps, would you? What does it take for a fellow to get a decent night's sleep around here?' Jonathan grumbled.  
  
Or at least I think that's what he said. His incoherent mumbling is a bit tricky to decipher sometimes.  
  
For a moment I was afraid this distraction would cause Mr O'Connell to cease his narrative, or even to pause to cuff Jonathan over the head for interrupting him, but he hardly seemed to notice, being completely rapt in his own tale.  
  
For all his charms, that man had a most exaggerated sense of his own importance!  
  
My gaze flickered to where Jonathan was rolling over, scratching himself under the arms in a most ape-like manner. (I half expected him to rip open his shirt and start pounding his chest while he was at it, maybe adding a roar or two for good measure!)  
  
He was clutching a bottle of liquor- empty, knowing him- to his chest as if it were a comforting childhood toy.  
  
Then again, it was, when one took into consideration the age at which my dear brother had first begun drinking compulsively.  
  
Perhaps he would prefer it if Mr O'Connell and I lulled him to sleep with a soothing lullaby, instead of having a perfectly normal, restrained adult conversation!  
  
'. . .so then I gutted the guy with his own knife and dragged his body back to our base. I left a trail of his blood behind me- a knife in the stomach sure does make a hell of a mess- but I got a medal anyway. For bravery, ya know.'  
  
Mr O'Connell leaned back and smiled in a self-satisfied, expectant sort of way, as if to say, 'I know you must be dying to praise my heroic self, so I'll add magnanimous to my attributes by creating a designated interval in my practically incessant rambling for you to do so.'  
  
He remained silent for some time, obviously patiently waiting for me to articulate cries of 'Oh! You're SO brave!' or 'You must have an awful lot of muscles to be able to drag a bloody carcass cross country with such agility and speed!'  
  
He probably thought I would faint in horror from the blood reference.  
  
As if I had never witnessed the flow of human blood! To be sure, it was usually one of Jonathan's many nose bleeds, but they weren't all roses and daisies!  
  
More like Venus flytrap or cacti, really.  
  
And I was always perfectly capable of staunching the red stream withought feeling in the least queasy.  
  
Which is more than could be said of Jonathan.  
  
He inevitably got quite distressed, and threw up all over the place, not to mention blubbering quite shamelessly.  
  
'Oh, honestly, Mr O'Connell, save such stories for the next seedy bar you take it into your head to pass out in. I am certainly not going to encourage you when it is quite obvious that you are overly pleased with yourself as it is.' I said, mildly enough.  
  
Well! He looked thoroughly disappointed, I was pleased to note.  
  
It served him right, if he had expected to get such admiration as I had imagined him to want. The sort of women Mr O'Connell would usually have as company -probably hired out of a bar, knowing him- would, after hearing such an account, have widened their heavily blackened -from a combination of makeup and fistfights- eyes and praised his gallant -or so he believed- actions to the skies.  
  
THEY would have leapt into his lap and covered his muscly, sweaty body with kisses and heaven knows what else, leaving him with many bright red lipstick marks to contrast sharply with his God-awful tattoos.  
  
Bar girls tended to be like that- excessively admiring of any member of the male species.  
  
Especially gods- sorry, I meant gits- like O'Connell.  
  
I supposed they were angling for free alcoholic beverages.  
  
But out here in the DESERT, far from such establishments and their ill- reputed inmates, Mr O'Connell had to be content with the inarticulate rambling of a librarian with more than half a brain, who was content to buy new items of clothing when her old things became too small, instead of gadding about in thigh-length dresses.  
  
'Ouch!' Mr O'Connell grimaced in response to my rebuke, shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat by the fire. He grabbed a few sticks from the ground beside him and fed them to the flames, sneaking wounded glances at me.  
  
Really, but men weren't self-reliant in the least! They seemed to need regular assurances of their brilliance from the fairer sex!  
  
Rather like coaxing flee-bitten mongrel circus dogs to repeat a particularly diverting trick, really.  
  
I adopted a bland, innocent expression and mentally prepared to act bland and innocent.  
  
'Why, Mr O'Connell! You didn't sit on a piece of Jonathan's broken bottle collection, did you? I did tell him, repeatedly in fact, that he ought to clean that mess up after he'd finished playing with it. Unfortunately, stopped listening, let alone responding, to that sort of rebuke from me a long time ago.'  
  
If he had ever listened, of which I was seriously sceptical. He was usually too busy trying to hide his unscrupulous behaviour from me to pay attention to what he called my 'nagging.' (Though I most certainly had never nagged! I had merely strongly suggested in a slightly higher tone of voice than usual!)  
  
It was interesting to observe O'Connell's reaction to my harmless comment. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he believed me to be completely oblivious and severely naive, which I most certainly was not!  
  
I was merely using him as a guinea pig in a sort of scientific experiment.  
  
With luck, I would not wind up forgetting to feed him, as I had poor little Fluffy.  
  
Poor Jonathan had been inconsolable.  
  
'Nah. Just verbal barbs.' Mr O'Connell said, adopting that winning grin of his which never failed to turn my knees from the solid mass of flesh and bone they usually were into water within seconds. Fortunately, this time I was sitting down and in no danger of falling to the ground.  
  
Not to imply that I was prone to swooning anyway!  
  
'Hmmm.' I replied, shifting a little in my seat by the fire.  
  
We sat in silence for a while, listening to the almost eerily calm silence of the desert being broken regularly with massive, uncouth snores from Jonathan.  
  
And then another noise met my ears, one that I could not put a name to. A noise that sent a series of shivers up my spine, or would have, had I not been excessively warm from sitting too close to the blazing fire.  
  
'Did you hear that?' I whispered to O'Connell, my flesh creeping a little as I tried not to imagine what had disturbed the peace. Horrible images began flooding my mind before I could stop them- a most disagreeable experience, to be sure, when one cannot control one's own thoughts.  
  
Downright annoying, too.  
  
'Hear what?' he demanded, instantly concerned. He glanced around suspiciously, and I could suddenly imagine him in full uniform, scouring the countryside for the enemy or a decent tavern as the case may be. 'What was it?'  
  
The sound obliged us with an encore performance, and this time Mr O'Connell heard it- his ears were apparently now free from the gritty sand that had clogged them momentarily.  
  
'I.I don't know,' I answered weakly, faltering a little.  
  
Marvellous! Bloody marvellous!  
  
Now he probably thought I was frightened!  
  
A weak, snivelling female who jumped at shadows and was afraid of the dark. I wasn't like that, but I knew that was who O'Connell expected me to be. I resolved there and then to prove him wrong somehow, before we got back to Cairo and he disappeared from everywhere except my memories.  
  
He looked at me, at my shameful apprehension and -there was no denying it- fear, as if he was about to say something.and then changed his mind.  
  
His eyes flashed and his jaw tightened and he stood, reaching for a weapon.  
  
He didn't have to reach far- there were plenty lying strewn around the fire from when Jonathan and the Warden had indulged themselves in a messy cops and robbers game earlier.  
  
It had been a pity they'd been too drunk to remember which was which.  
  
'Wait here.'  
  
My trepidation forgotten, I stood quickly, almost falling over a champagne bottle in the process. (If only Jonathan would clean up after himself once in a while! Whatever he thought, I was NOT his slave, or his housekeeper.)  
  
'Where do you think are you going?' I demanded, even though I knew perfectly well that he was off to be a Big Hero by finding the source of the noise and destroying it with gusto, probably also with twice as many bullets as necessary, just to show off.  
  
Hmph! What a waste. Didn't he know ammunition didn't grow on trees?  
  
I could really only come to the conclusion that Mr O'Connell was suffering withdrawal symptoms, having not had the pleasure and privilege of killing anyone for almost four hours. The prospect of the violence that the mysterious noises promised was just too tempting for him to pass up. He clearly needed to spill some blood, and soon.  
  
I supposed he thought that sort of behaviour would be applauded -not to mention rewarded- by me when he got back!  
  
Well, he would soon learn that medals are in short supply in the middle of the desert.  
  
As I thus inwardly seethed, Mr O'Connell avoided my lethal -or so I would have liked to think it was- gaze almost guiltily, and pretended to be interested in the label of a liquor bottle he'd just accidentally trodden on.  
  
Unfortunately for him, from my vantage point I was able to see quite well that it had been smudged beyond comprehension. He couldn't possibly be reading it.  
  
So why he kept murmuring 'Huh! I'll be damned! This stuff has grapes in it!' was a mystery the likes of which had not been seen since the Bermuda tryangle.  
  
If the Bermuda tryangle ever HAD been seen, which was doubtful.  
  
'Just going to check it out.' O'Connell finally mumbled, in answer to the question I had uttered an age ago. Honestly, That Man had some serious communication problems!  
  
Come to think of it, he had some serious other problems as well.  
  
And he was sorely mistaken if he thought he was going anywhere withought much discomfort and interrogation from me first!  
  
'Just to get killed, you mean.' I quipped.  
  
I had no doubt that Mr O'Connell would have more faith in himself than that, with his enormous ego and all. I waited for him to correct me, wondering tiredly if there was a man on earth who would refrain from doing so after such a would to their pride.  
  
'Hey!' he exclaimed, looking offended. 'I can handle it!'  
  
Just as I had suspected!  
  
Insufferable man!  
  
How dare he meet my expectations!  
  
Although I supposed that if he hadn't met them, I STILL would have been angry at him. Never in my life had I met a person who could rile me up as much as this dirty, uncouth, ill-mannered scoundrel, with his many guns, insults, and muscles.  
  
'I very much doubt it.' I said scornfully. 'That thing didn't sound very human to me.'  
  
'Yeah? So it's an animal. Either way, like I said, I can handle it.'  
  
He crossed two distractingly muscly arms across his distractingly muscly chest and smirked foolishly at me. Far from being distracted, I had an irresistible urge to slap that smugness right off his face.  
  
Then I had a better idea.  
  
'If you insist on going, than I'm coming with you,' I announced, and took a few decisive steps away from the fire and towards the unaccountable sounds.  
  
I heard him swear quietly, and for once it amused me instead of prompting torrents of rebukes.  
  
I hid my smile and turned to him indifferently, feigning impatience.  
  
'Well? Are you coming, or shall I go by myself?'  
  
I watched his face darken as a scowl replaced the smirk.  
  
A definite improvement.  
  
'You're not going anywhere!' he growled, raising his voice and stepping towards me menacingly.  
  
I stepped neatly out of his reach. 'I suggest that you save your empty threats for whatever's out there, and hope it proves more compliant than I have.' I replied, raising my voice to match his.  
  
Then I turned and strode purposefully into the unknown.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
'Be quiet!' O'Connell barked hoarsely as I crashed non-too-quietly through the undergrowth.  
  
'I'm being as quiet as I can!' I hissed, rubbing my arm where I'd scratched it repeatedly on inconveniently placed tree limbs and prickly bushes.  
  
If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn our surroundings were conspiring against me!  
  
It seemed I had brushed up against every spiky plant and tripped over every rock larger than a pebble that we had passed.  
  
It was quite disconcerting, not to mention thoroughly irritating. What was even more annoying was the fact that O'Connell was having no problems at all! No, he seemed to anticipate each leaf and stick as if he'd placed them there himself! He just dodged and weaved agilely as I blundered clumsily in his wake. He was as home in the wilderness I was, well, in a library or a museum.  
  
If only walking without falling over ones own feet came as easily as categorising books and deciphering hieroglyphics.  
  
I was rudely interrupted from my reverie by O'Connell whirling around and grabbing my arm.  
  
'Did you hear that?' he breathed.  
  
'No.' I said crossly, not bothering to be quiet, 'But you're squeezing my arm where I cut it earlier, which rather hurts. If you'd be so kind as to-'  
  
'Shhh!' he whispered softly, letting go of my arm at last. 'Sorry. Lets keep going. If we don't find anything soon we'll turn back.'  
  
'Oh we will, will we? Just who put YOU in charge?' I muttered.  
  
'What?'  
  
'Nothing.'  
  
We kept walking, O'Connell glaring menacingly and suspiciously at anything that dared to move without permission. He seemed to be concentrating rather hard for someone who was usually so impatient.  
  
I, however, was thoroughly bored of the whole expedition and quite ready to turn around and get some rest before it was time to leave again. I had heard Mr O'Connell tell Jonathan earlier -with remarkable foresight to choose a time when he was still sober- that we should leave at daybreak. This appointed time couldn't be more than a few hours away now, and it would be a good idea to get some rest beforehand, to prevent falling face down in the sand from exhaustion later on.  
  
Assuming that O'Connell knew the way back -for I certainly didn't- if we turned around now we could be sleeping by the fire in ten minutes or so.  
  
Sleep was suddenly very appealing.  
  
It was on the tip of my tounge to mention this brilliant plan to Mr O'Connell when something quite unexpected happened.  
  
A hand grabbed my shoulder from behind and a low, uneven voice said,  
  
'Stop.'  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Author's Note: There are a few sentences in this chapter that are strangely long, and have a lot crammed into them- sorry about that! I just couldn't bring myself to cut anything out.  
  
Who is it that grabs Evie at the end, you ask? At this point I have no idea. Well, I do have a few ideas actually- the hard part is deciding which to use. It'd be great if people reading this could now give me a review, and include a suggestion in the review, so I can see what people want, because I don't really mind what I write about, within reason.  
  
PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW!!! I won't continue until I get a decent amount.  
  
I mean, I assume if you're still reading this that you've read my story, and if you've got to chapter three you MUST have comments!!!  
  
So comment already!!!  
  
(Thanks HEAPS to those who have bothered to drop me a line, particularly those who review regularly- it is very much appreciated. Your feedback is what keeps me going!)  
  
Violence Withdrawal Symptoms 


	4. Rather Unpleasant Situations

Chapter Four  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or anything at all related to The Mummy, except the DVD.  
  
Author's Note: Thank you SOOO much everyone who has reviewed!!! Its so nice of you!  
  
I'm sorry, anyone who has been following this story, that there's been such a delay and all. I was busy, and then I wrote the end of the chapter wrong- I don't know how, but it got all serious and deep and meaningful, completely different in style from the first bit. When I read it through I even shocked myself! So I had to go back had to change everything, which took FOREVER.  
  
Thankfully, it's finally finished.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I often flattered myself that I was a rather composed, sensible person, just as unlikely to be much affected by an uncomfortable situation as I was to be the cause of one. Of course, when I uttered or thought anything to this effect I was usually referring to waiting patiently in a long queue, or dealing with incompetent salespeople. (Fancy working in Harrods and not knowing where the book department was!) Usually, I was not referring to potentially life-threatening situations like the ones I had recently found myself in.  
  
Like the one I was in now.  
  
I don't believe it is necessary to convey just what was going through my mind at the time of the unknown hand clamping down upon my shoulder, and the low, uneven voice bidding me to stop.  
  
Anyone might correctly conclude that I was rather unpleasantly surprised.  
  
I was not exactly scared out of my wits, however. Just as little unnerved- like one might be after receiving an invitation to tea at nine o'clock at night, or witnessing a nearby bus blow up.  
  
That sort of thing.  
  
The night's occurrences had hardened me considerably. After one lives through being threatened by a dark, surly Egyptian man with a claw who hadn't even read Peter Pan and more dark, surly Egyptian men appearing out of nowhere and shooting at one and one's guide, one tends to be forever altered.  
  
Especially considering all that had happened afterwards.  
  
By that time, I was quite ready to roll my eyes and inform no-one in particular that after the surprisingly many horrid things that had happened to me lately, I just didn't see a HAND as much of a threat.  
  
Even one with dirty fingernails.  
  
Which, I couldn't help but notice, were in desperate need of a trim.  
  
I would have acted so, had I not involuntarily begun contemplating what the hand was connected to.  
  
This train of thought was less than comforting, to say the least.  
  
Luckily, Mr O'Connell, with his ready wit and equally ready handgun, was all too ready to come to my rescue.  
  
'Who the hell are you?' he shouted, his gun aimed at whoever now had a firm hold on me from behind.  
  
Utterly brilliant, Mr O'Connell, I couldn't help but think with scorn. If that declaration wouldn't free me from the degrading experience of being held by a man who had fleas, nothing would.  
  
There was no answer from my captor- one could hardly blame him, really- other than a grunt. Then I felt something cold under my chin that made me more sick to the stomach than a bad oyster.  
  
I stood very still and hoped it was just a wet face towel.  
  
'You're one of the guys off the barge, aren't you? Let her go or I'll send you to meet your friends.' O'Connell continued, with a degree of bravado that was most certainly feigned. Only O'Connell could still try to preserve his reputation as a Big Hero at a time like this! Didn't he know my life was at stake?  
  
SOMEONE wasn't going to get a tip at the end of the expedition. In fact, he'd be lucky to be paid at all at this rate.  
  
'Where is the key?' my captor demanded in broken English.  
  
The key?  
  
What key?  
  
Did he mean the key to Cairo museum, I wondered? Or the key to the old Carnahan mansion back in England?  
  
I supposed he could have those, if he asked nicely. The Magic Word wouldn't have gone astray at that point, either.  
  
Maybe the key to Jonathan's liquor cabinet? Jonathan would never talk to me again if I gave it away, but what choice did I have?  
  
The only other key in my possession was the key to my diary, and the rude man with the unclean fingernails certainly must have had a high opinion of himself if he thought I was going to part with that!  
  
'What key?' O'Connell demanded. 'Do you know what he's talking about, Evie?'  
  
I shook my head, causing the man's grip on my arm to tighten so much I could practically feel my blood clotting. No doubt I would have an ugly purple bruise there in the morning- just what I needed! NOT!  
  
I had always considered purple to be a rather vulgar colour, probably because Jonathan frequently bought me fashionable evening dresses in that shade, insisting they matched my eyes. Just what colour he considered my eyes to be I was never brave enough to ask.  
  
'Tell me where it is, or else. . .' the man said softly, grating his knife against my throat. Suddenly it occurred to me that if I was not careful I wouldn't be alive in the morning to worry about my bruise.  
  
My eyes swung to meet O'Connell's, and our gazes locked for what seemed to be an eternity. I saw something in his eyes that made me want to live to see my bruise, just to find out if he thought purple matched my eyes... ... ...  
  
He swallowed hard, blinking, and for the first time since I'd known him, he looked afraid. Like he cared about what happened to me . . .  
  
Then again, he'd probably just got a grain of sand in his eye.  
  
'We don't know were the key is! We don't even know WHAT it is!' I blabbered, trying not to look at Mr O'Connell too much, lest I grow weak in the knees and jeopardise our chances of a hasty escape, should we attempt one.  
  
'You lie!' the man barked. I could hear from his impatient tone that I was running out of time. I desperately tried to think of a way out of the situation and the uncomfortable grasp on my upper arm.  
  
Wait a minute- why didn't O'Connell just shoot the man? He'd be getting a nice dose of violence to keep him happy and rescuing me at the same time, thus securing his eventual payment forever!  
  
What was WRONG with him? Just my luck that the one time I actually wanted Mr O'Connell to be violent, he simply stood there helplessly.  
  
Why didn't he shoot?  
  
Oh, right. I was standing directly between O'Connell's gun and my attacker. He'd have to shoot me first, and that would certainly put his money in jeopardy. Not to mention Jonathan's pa-  
  
Wait a minute-  
  
Jonathan.  
  
Jonathan's coat! Jonathan's borrowed gun, in the pocket of Jonathan's coat!  
  
Which I happened to be wearing, thanks to Mr O'Connell's excellent nursing skills after I had knocked myself out earlier! Really, there might have been some hope for that man after all. . . a career in doctoring would present him with an opportunity to give something back to society and greatly benefit mankind, while simultaneously provide plenty of opportunities for him to hack away at people and get covered in their blood!  
  
That would be right up his ally!  
  
I knew I had to act fast if I was to ensure I would live to tell Mr O'Connell my wonderful plan, and see him act on it. If we made it back to Cairo, I could even show him the medical section of the library.  
  
I didn't mean to boast, but the Cairo library - even if I said so myself as a former employee- had an excellent medical section.  
  
'Umm, you're right.' I said, thinking quickly. O'Connell looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. I glared warningly at him. 'We ARE lying. I'll take you to the key, but only if you promise to spare our lives.'  
  
My attacker grunted in a way I took to be a reluctant agreement. Honestly! He was just as irritatingly inarticulate as Mr O'Connell!  
  
Perhaps even more so, though it was difficult to tell at this early stage.  
  
Mr O'Connell looked to me expectantly. 'It's at our campsite,' I said, giving him a meaningful look in which I hoped to convey that I had things under control- all he had to do was follow my lead, and although I had never been a particularly good dancer, I felt confident I could do this type of leading with profound competence.  
  
After all, leading an escape attempt was probably easier than leading a girl across a dance floor, if Jonathan's failure was anything to go by. He invariably stepped on my toes more than the polished wooden floor, and a worse dancing partner I have yet to find, although I upon reflection I imagined I would probably find one in O'Connell, if I looked hard enough.  
  
'Uh, yeah. Follow me.' the American said, still looking unsure. He gestured in the direction we'd come from and began walking back, frequently looking over his shoulder to see if we were following in a way that reminded me of the guilty murderers in the cheap thriller plays Jonathan had been fond of seeing back in England. Of course, Rick hadn't murdered anyone-lately- and certainly wouldn't have been feeling guilty if he had.  
  
Of this I was quite certain.  
  
My attacker shoved me forward and walked after O'Connell, still holding his knife to my throat and tightly grasping one of my arms. I resisted the urge to request that he refrain from cutting off my circulation.  
  
Instead, I focused on my free arm.  
  
I groped around in the coat pocket until my hand connected with cold metal. I grasped the weapon, trying to remember all my father had taught me long ago about firing hunting rifles, before he discovered I had no more interest in shooting at innocent creatures than I had aptitude for the wretched sport. Of course, shooting at such close range was much easier.  
  
Wasn't it?  
  
Hoping fervently that it was loaded, I flicked the safety catch off with my thumb as I made as much noise as possible to cover the action by loudly asking O'Connell if we were nearly there.  
  
'Almost.' I heard him reply. He still didn't know what was going on, but one had to give credit where credit was due- he was doing an excellent job of shutting up and cooperating. I knew few men intimately, but those I did know would not have been at all willing to let a women take over what they considered to be 'a man's job', let alone in a situation like this.  
  
Especially in a situation such as this.  
  
Maybe if a career in medicine didn't work out O'Connell could try his hand at giving a few lectures on feminism. Write a book, perhaps- Why Women Should Be Allowed To Lead Intricate Escape Attempts And Ballroom Dancing.  
  
Turning my concentration once more to the task at hand, I poised my finger on the trigger and gripped the gun determinedly. Then I whisked the gun out of my pocket and quickly twisted my arm over my shoulder to shoot the man in the shoulder.  
  
Everything that happened afterwards is somewhat blurred, like when I try to read the newspaper, only to find that my glasses are on my head, as I sometimes do.  
  
Or when Jonathan takes the lenses out for a joke, as he sometimes does.  
  
After O'Connell had shot the poor man a few more times and asked me if I was all right a few more times than a few times, we set off to the campsite in companionable silence. I felt strangely elated, not least because of the furtive admiring glances O'Connell was throwing in my direction.  
  
'I didn't know you knew how to use a gun,' he remarked, and I knew what he meant was, 'I didn't know women knew how to use guns, especially conservative women.'  
  
Not to imply that O'Connell knew the meaning of the word 'conservative', of course, because I am quite sure he did not.  
  
Positive, in fact.  
  
'There are many things you don't know about me, Mr O'Connell.' I replied airily, accentuating 'mr.'  
  
He had the nerve to look amused- he actually chuckled!  
  
Twice!  
  
'I know that the more I know about you, the less of what I thought I did know is true.'  
  
He looked at me sideways with a slight smile. I smiled back. I imagined fireworks exploding above his head. Momentarily, there was an unexplainable bond between us. If I didn't think it was rude and uncouth to swear, I'd have sworn the very air separating our faces shuddered.  
  
I didn't answer him at first. I was busy being glad I hadn't been stabbed, as then I never would have had the Momentary Unexplainable Bond.  
  
And I never would have seen the air shudder.  
  
(Whoever would have guessed air could shudder?)  
  
Finally, still reliving the violent scene I had started -who would have thought that I, Evelyn Carnahan, was capable of starting a violent scene?- and wishing I'd known how to prevent being taken hostage in the first place, I said, 'I don't know much about this sort of thing at all, really. I wish I did.'  
  
Mr O'Connell looked surprised. He raised his eyebrows, but couldn't keep the smile from his lips. (His oh-so-appealing lips, with their- oh for heaven's sake! When would I learn to control myself?)  
  
'Do you?' he asked in a low voice. My goodness, he was even more attractive than usual when he spoke in a low voice! If this kept up my knees would certainly give and he'd have to carry me the rest of the way in his arms, against his -muscly, though no doubt hairy (oh god)- chest.  
  
A prospect that was increasingly appealing, despite my intense hatred of chest hairs.  
  
'Of course. I believe everyone should know how to defend themselves.' I replied truthfully.  
  
To my surprise, O'Connell suddenly looked disappointed! His face fell two inches and he said 'huh', as if. . . well. . .as if he'd wanted to say he would protect me, but now couldn't because I'd said I wanted to protect myself!  
  
Could that be it? It seemed a viably possibility.  
  
The only other viable possibility was that he'd swallowed a fly.  
  
Oh, how horrid! What had I done? What could I do to fix it?  
  
'Of course,' I added hurriedly, 'sometimes one finds oneself powerless to protected oneself.'  
  
'Yeah. But listen, if you, uh, really want to know how to, uh, fight, I could teach you a little. If you wanted.' O'Connell rambled, looking unsure of himself for once.  
  
Well. Not quite what I had been expecting, but acceptable, nonetheless. Very acceptable. Not that I'd go around recommending that O'Connell started a career in public speaking, or anything.  
  
Not with his vocabulary.  
  
'That would be lovely.' I replied. And to my surprise I realised that I meant it.  
  
It WOULD be lovely!  
  
O'Connell smiled, relieved. We walked on.  
  
Then, after a minute or two, he suddenly stopped. He looked around a little in all directions. Rather sheepishly, he turned to me and asked,  
  
'Uh, you wouldn't happen to know where we are, would you?'  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Author's Note: I'll try to get the next chapter posted really soon, maybe tomorrow.  
  
But that still leaves plenty of time for you all to review!  
  
A few times in this chapter, I mention that Rick's getting paid eventually. I don't think that was mentioned in the movie and I doubt he would have been paid, but he does in my story, for no reason in particular. Not that it really matters. I just thought I should explain.  
  
Thanks again to all those who have reviewed so far!  
  
And thanks for reading! 


	5. Lack of Navigation and Hygiene Skills

**Chapter Four**

Disclaimer: I have no idea if I need this or not, but I thought I should write it just in case. Anyway, I don't own these characters or anything to do with the Mummy.

Author's Note: No, I'm not lying in a ditch somewhere, decapitated, being eaten by crows, and (needless to say) dead. Instead, I'm actually updating!

A huge thank-you to all my reviewers, particularly toni isis, who encouraged me to write more of this.

* * *

'Uh, you wouldn't happen to know where we are, would you?'

I stared at O'Connell with my mouth open, not wanting to believe the horrifying truth but comforting myself with the fact that getting us lost was exactly the sort of thing I would have expected from a rude, irritating and arrogant man like him.

I always find it extremely gratifying and soothing to be right about something.

Unfortunately, it was not quite as soothing as usual. In fact, it was quite a struggle to remain relatively calm and refrain from a) hyperventilating, b) panicking, or c) strangling O'Connell with my bare hands (an extremely tempting option, but one which I realised with regret I could never achieve until O'Connell himself taught me some self defence as he had promised. Until then, I would sooner win a hot air balloon race around the world while blindfolded or convince Jonathan to wash the breakfast dishes than win a wrestling match against Rick O'Connell).

'You are literally unbelievable,' I exclaimed, deciding that while it would not do to murder O'Connell, I was at least entitled to yell at him. 'Do you mean to tell me that not only are you incapable of coherent speech and completing regular hygiene rituals, you are also hopeless at navigation?'

This was just so typical of a man that I could hardly speak for indignation. Various instances of Jonathan refusing to ask directions -resulting in traipses through more rugged countryside than I thought strictly tasteful- whirled through my head. I made a mental note to jot down various landmarks en route to Hamanaptra in case O'Connell had another memory lapse on the way back to Cairo.

Presuming, of course, that we ever actually made it back to the campsite, let alone all the way to Hamanaptra. At this rate I would be forty three years old by the time I saw the Nile River again.

O'Connell crossed his arms across his chest -which was looking a great deal less attractive after his heinous error in getting us lost- and leaned towards me, barking 'Yeah, well, I don't exactly see how you're any better!'

'Excuse me, MR O'Connell, but I beg to differ. I happen to bathe every day of the week, as opposed to once a month, and I _never_ leave the house without a clean pocket handkerchief.'

'Well good for you, but I was talking about navigating, not face powdering!'

The nerve of the man, suggesting that I actually use face powder!

I won't deny that I own some (courtesy of my mother about ten years ago, before she realised that I was more interested in having intelligent conversations with men three times my age than completing time-consuming beauty rituals, and wouldn't know a fashion emergency from a hole in the ground), but I have certainly never used it, apart from the time I hid the key to my diary inside the container in a last desperate -and fruitless, it turned out- attempt to protect my innermost thoughts and desires from the prying eyes of a teenage Jonathan and his six closest friends.

'I happen to have _excellent_ skin, not that I would expect a convicted felon like you to notice.' I retorted.

'What the hell are you talking abo- never mind. I don't want to know. Let's get out of here before I do something I'd regret.'

He turned and stomped off in the direction we'd came from, leaving me to wonder what on earth O'Connell, a man who had shot dead at least three people since suppertime, could do that he would regret.

Take a bath, perhaps, thus washing off the protective layer of dirt he seemed to find so necessary.

'Evelyn!' O'Connell's frustrated shout roused me from my reverie and I began trailing behind him as he strode purposefully through the undergrowth, no doubt anticipating with relish the prospect of downing a good deal of whisky upon our return to the camp.

I could hear him muttering darkly under his breath about '… incomprehensible twittering …' and ' …I'll tell her where she can put her pocket handkerchiefs… ' and '… should have let them hang me when I had the chance …'

* * *

Ten minutes later I was still following O'Connell and we were still no closer to the campsite, despite a lot of unattractive squinting at shadows by myself and a lot of levelling firearms at unsuspecting sand dunes and throwing wary glances at shifty looking rocks by O'Connell, who seemed to be more interested in finding an excuse to shoot holes in something with his great dirty gun than finding our campsite.

I yawned and almost choked on air as O'Connell's voice broke the silence, reflecting to my irritation that now I couldn't even _yawn_ without my insufferable companion interrupting me.

'Shit! Something nipped my heel. Could be a snake bite. I'd better-'

'Er, Mr O'Connell, that was my foot.'

'Oh.'

'I do apologise.'

'No problem.'

'It's just that it's rather dark, and, and,'

'Hard to see anything.'

'Precisely.' I paused, hesitating as an idea formed in my mind. 'Er, Mr O'Connell… … …'

'Yeah?'

'Do you think we ought to shout out? Maybe Jonathan will hear us and direct us to the campsite.'

'Yeah, and then we could have a spot of tea and cucumber sandwiches while our good friend the jolly prison warden plays the fiddle. Unfortunately, the more likely scenario would be the one where one of those barge guys hears us instead, finds us, and blows our brains out.'

Hmph. It seems to me that Mr O'Connell is rather pessimistic. Not to mention cranky. It must be the lack of sleep. I've often observed that after Jonathan has been up all night at the pub, drinking, flirting and gambling, that he doesn't respond kindly to any sort of interaction that even remotely resembles polite conversation. He usually just moans for my hangover remedy, which more often than not winds up being tipped over my head after I annoy him about reforming his lamentable drunken ways.

My musings were unexpectedly and rudely interrupted by a loud crash to my right. Quite honestly, the ominous noises were getting a bit old by this time, so I paid no attention to it and continued to reminisce about the time Jonathan had drunkenly set fire to the living room curtains whilst trying to light a cigar after a night on the town.

I hadn't taken another ten steps before the noise repeated itself twice, and I was startled by its persistency. I felt obliged to alert Mr O'Connell, who, I felt sure, would get whatever it was to stop disturbing the peace quite effectively, by shooting it in the head.

'Mr O'Connell?'

'What is it now?'

'Did you hear something?' I asked.

He turned to look at me warily. 'The last time you asked me that we ended up being held hostage by a man in a black dress.'

I shushed him and held a finger to my lips, and we stood tensely, listening.

There was total silence.

After a while Mr O'Connell raised his eyebrows at me before turning to continue on. For a moment I felt like a complete idiot, and was sure he must think I was barking mad and prone to hearing voices that no one else could hear.

My Aunt Millie used to hear voices. That was just before she was admitted into the psychiatric ward of our local hospital. (I went to visit her once- it was decidedly eerie. The whole time she simply sat in bed knitting rainbow jumpers and wailing something about a goldfish and marmalade on toast.)

Then I heard it, and from the ill expression on O'Connell's face -not unlike the time Jonathan was eight and he went for a pony ride after eating an entire lemon pie- I knew he had heard it too.

An evil, warped, high-pitched laugh resounded through the desert air.

'I'll go check it out,' O'Connell said determinedly, and strode towards the noise.

'I'm coming with you!' I cried, stumbling after him and stubbing my toes on a large rock in the process.

As we approached the noise, another voice rose above the laughter, a decidedly familiar voice…

'… and I say, old chap, did you hear the one about the cat and the frying pan?'

'Jonathan,' O'Connell growled, and the nasty warden appeared, clutching Jonathan's shoulder. Both of them where crying with laughter, but stopped short when they saw O'Connell and I.

'Jonathan, what the hell do you think you're doing?' O'Connell demanded.

'I could ask you the same thing, old chap. We were woken by the sound of blasted _shots_ ringing out and you and Evie were nowhere to be seen. I had to come and make sure that you weren't using old mum for target practice!'

This new hilarious joke at my expense was evidently too much for the warden to take, for after laughing hysterically in the manner of a hyena or psychiopath, he stumbled over and breathed a most offensive, foul odour into my face before abruptly passing out at my feet.

'Great,' muttered O'Connell. 'Looks like we'll have to carry him.'

'I hope that doesn't include me, old chap. My left knee's been a bit out of sorts lately…shouldn't chance it, dangerous threat to my health and all that. Could lead to- of course I'll help, I'd be delighted to! Of course, it would be considerably easier to lift the body if you weren't grasping my shoulder quite that hard-'

Several minutes and several new bruises on Jonathan's arm later we had acquainted my brother with everything that had happened since we'd gone to investigate the first strange noise, including the shameful detail of getting lost, which O'Connell seemed to find quite embarrassing if his slight flush and unnatural lack of loud profanities was anything to go by.

Happily, Jonathan was sure he knew how to get back to the campsite. He and O'Connell managed to convey the unconscious warden (who no one seemed too worried about, despite the fact that he was bleeding from the head) between them as Jon led the way.

'Just follow me, I'll have us all warm by the fire in no time at all.' Jonathan exclaimed enthusiastically, apparently thrilled to be leading the expedition at last after being pushed aside by O'Connell's superior bossiness all day. He has been relating fabricated tales of his heroic deeds to impress women for so long that I think he actually half believes them, so it was no surprise to find him willing to live up to his 'dashing' reputation.

Too tired to even find this annoying, I stumbled after them blearily. My nightgown was, by this time, ruined beyond all recognition, and, although I couldn't see it, I was sure that my hair was too. If we'd encountered any more frightening men in black robes they probably would have taken one look at me and run away screaming, or dragged me to the nearest village square to either be shot or have my hair shampooed.

As I was trying in vain to banish this less than comforting thought from my head the campfire came into view. Few sights have ever been as welcome to me as the sight of the campsite was that night, and that includes the sight of a key coming under the door after Jonathan thought it would be a good idea to lock me in the room where our father kept his spider specimens when we were children. I had nightmares about giant hairy spiders for weeks afterwards, until I effectively overcame my fear by planting a particularly large one in Jonathan's bed and listening joyously to his screams of terror when he discovered it crawling up his leg.

I sat down, exhausted, and watched as O'Connell and Jonathan deposited the warden on his bedroll by the fire before collapsing themselves. I could barely keep my eyes open, though having them open was hardly better than having them closed as everything kept shifting in and out of focus in the manner of a bad photographic exhibition.

I was just about to yawn goodnight to my companions when Jonathan made the inevitable grab for a bottle of something strong and dark and alcoholic.

'Fancy a little drink, then, O'Connell?' Jonathan asked jovially, as if he were at an eighteenth birthday party or an upmarket pub.

O'Connell just looked at him incredulously before hitting him over the head with the palm of his hand.

'I'll take that as a no, then.' Jonathan muttered sulkily.

* * *

Author's Note: Below is a rough timeline of what happens on the night of this story. I hope it clears up any confusion about what time the story's up to and how long is left until the next day. It seems a bit rushed to me, but it doesn't really matter. I wanted to have as much time as possible left for the rest of the story.

TIMELINE

8:30 Barge is Attacked (I know it seems a little early, especially as Evelyn is already going to bed, but indulge me.)

8:45 Barge sinks

8:45-9:15 Chapter one

9:15-10:15 Chapter two

10:15-10:45 Chapter three

10:45-11:15 Chapter four

11:15-12:00 Chapter five

I don't know when the next chapter will be ready, but I'll try to write it as soon as I can (preferably not in six months time, which is what happened with this chapter). In the meantime, please review!!!!! And thanks for reading!


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